Work Text:
“Herms!”
Hermione Granger kept her nose in her Advanced Arithmancy book, and forced herself to not even glance across the Gryffindor Common Room to the stairs from the boys' dormitories. Ron's still my friend, she thought to herself, but I'm fairly well sick and tired of this nickname business. She wasn't sure if Ronald Weasley thought he was showing genuine affection for her, or if he'd read some alleged guide to romance which told him being annoying was the best way to the heart of a woman raised in the Muggle world.
“Hey, Herms!” This time he was practically shouting in her ear. She'd hoped he was only greeting her on his way out of the Tower, but apparently her luck had run out for the moment. Well, I suppose I shouldn't complain, since my luck's been so good that our Seventh Year has actually turned into my first normal school year. Everything could have gone to pot last Spring, and we could be stuck out there in the wilderness trying to fight the Dark Lord right now. If Voldemort hadn't slipped on the soap a fortnight before Dumbledore's heart attack and taken most of the Death Eaters with him through their Dark Marks, and if Luna's Nargle repellent hadn't also turned out to be a Horcrux repellent when combined with a friendly little kiss on the cheek under the mistletoe... well, things could have been very different. I really should consider myself lucky. Even if I can't figure out this whole thing with Harry and Ginny, whether I'm almost dating him and she's his dear friend or she's almost dating him and I'm his dear friend or if we've both agreed to back off instead of competing with each other and see if Harry himself will make a decision, I'm doing well enough that I shouldn't let Ron's antics bother me so much.
She counted to ten. “Yes, Ron?”
“You know I've been trying to learn more about Muggle culture, cos I know it's, like, important to you that you keep in touch with your roots and all of that, isn't it, Herms? So, I got a subscription to Muggle Life Weekly—that's the magazine that Dad started writing a column for last summer—and I was just reading it, and it turns out today's a Muggle holiday.”
She blinked. Good heavens, am I really that out of touch with the world I grew up in? Did something important happen on the twelfth of January in the last seven years, and did I miss it because I was too busy being a Witch? No, it can't be. I'm sure it's only that somebody who's just as enthusiastic as Mister Weasley and even less knowledgeable saw a rack of cards in a stationer's shop or read a fluff piece in the Telegraph and decided that something like Podiatrists' Day or the anniversary of the foundation of the Royal Palynological Society was a major festival. “Oh. That's interesting. Perhaps you could tell Harry and me all about it over dinner?”
Did Ron grimace when she mentioned Harry? “The thing is, Herms, I really have been listening, and I know you're concerned about drifting away from where you grew up and all that stuff, and I thought you might like to celebrate today just the way I'm sure you would have done at home.”
“I'm sorry, Ronald, but I haven't the faintest idea what holiday you're talking about.”
“Why, International Kiss a Ginger Day, of course!” He puckered his lips, looking much like a duck who'd found himself trapped in human form and was desperately trying to make the awkward fleshy lips of his unfamiliar new body serve as a proper bill.
Oh, merciful heavens! Why does Ron think I'm interested in him? Does he not realise that watching him snog Lavender last year cured me of whatever tiny lingering attraction I might have felt? Not to mention all that awful drama when he broke up with her? For a moment, Hermione wondered if it might be time to hex the boy . No. Hexing him might make Harry unhappy. It probably wouldn't please Ginny, either. She glanced about the room, looking for escape, and saw a flash of glossy red hair over by the girls' stair. “Ginny? Would you come over here, please? That is, if you could spare a moment?”
“For a friend as dear as you, Hermione, I'm sure I could even spare several dozen moments.” The youngest and cutest Weasley trotted across the room, her school satchel slung over one shoulder, her tie just slightly askew, her hair loosely plaited.
Goodness, she really is beautiful. If I were inclined that way, maybe I'd be jealous of Harry... not that I am, or that I'm jealous of Ginny, either. I'm glad we're friends. And if she does end up with Harry, I'll understand, and I'll be glad that she's good to him, won't I? Oh, stop thinking about that, you silly girl! Hermione wrenched her attention away from the most friendly and courteous love triangle ever and concentrated on the business at hand. “Your brother's just told me about this holiday called 'International Kiss a Ginger Day.' Have you ever heard of it?”
“It's some kind of a Muggle festival, Gin. You know, Harry grew up in the Muggle world, too. I'm sure he'd like to celebrate it with you.”
Ginny ignored her brother. Instead, she smiled sweetly at Hermione. “That's interesting. Is it a real thing, do you think?”
“Don't be silly, Gin-Gin! I read about it in Muggle Life Weekly. Of course it's real!”
“I've never heard of it before, but I suppose I have been a little bit out of touch with the non-magical world, lately.”
Ginny winked. “Well, I'd hate to think my own dear brother was making up some stupid holiday for the sole purpose of badgering one of my very best friends into kissing him. Why, if he did that, I might have to hex him. And I'd hate to have to hex our Ronniekins, so I would.”
“I'll show you the article.”
“Or, of course, I could tell Mum. She didn't raise us to be sneaking manipulative little snots, did she?”
Ron paled. “Calm down, Gin. The magazine wouldn't have printed the story if it wasn't real. I was thinking you could celebrate it with Harry and I could celebrate with Herms.”
Ginny snickered. “Well, even if it is a real holiday, they didn't say it was 'Kiss an Opposite-Sex Ginger Day,' did they?”
“Good point, Ginny! May I?”
“Of course you may, Hermione.” Ginny presented her cheek, and Hermione kissed it. To her surprise, she felt a slight tingle, almost like a pleasurable jolt of static electricity. She flicked her eyes over at Ron. He looked... uncomfortable.
“Oh,” Ginny murmured, “that... well, that was nice.” She mouthed “Could we?”
Why not? Just to show Ron once and for all what I think of these daft romantic notions of his. She puckered her lips, and Ginny puckered hers, and they kissed. It was... it was almost like the kiss Hermione had imagined sharing with Harry years ago, lying in her bed a few hours after the Boy Who Lived and his annoying best mate saved her from a troll, wishing she'd been braver. Maybe, just maybe, it's not too late for me to be brave.
Afterwards, they stared into each others' eyes. “That... that was nice,” Ginny said. “Wasn't it?”
“It was. And I think Harry should get to celebrate Kiss a Ginger Day as well, don't you?”
Ginny licked her lips. “That sounds good to me, as long as he also gets to celebrate Kiss a Brunette Who Just Kissed a Ginger Day.”
“I'd like that.” Hermione put her books in her satchel and rose to her feet. “Shall we?” She offered her arm to Ginny. It looks as if there was a third option right in front of us all along, and I'm glad we finally saw it. I'd thank Ron for helping us, but I'm afraid that would be too much like twisting the knife right now.
Ginny laid her hand on Hermione's elbow. “We shall.”
“Excellent. As I recall, Harry should be coming back from visiting Buckbeak and his nestlings right about now. I imagine we'll be able to waylay him in the entrance hall.”
Ginny kissed her on the cheek. “And maybe we could persuade him to follow us to some more private place for a nice pre-dinner chat about unusual Muggle holidays?”
Hermione kissed Ginny's cheek. “That sounds lovely. Maybe in the Room of Requirement?”
“Only if you think the Prefects' Bath would be moving too quickly.”
“Do you?”
Ginny giggled. “Well, the two of you have been dating as long as I've known you, so at this point I'm not sure there's any such thing, but whatever you think best, my dear.” Arm in arm, the two girls stepped out through the portrait hole.
#
Back in the Common Room, Ron buried his face in the palm of his hand. “Bloody Potter gets everything,” he muttered under his breath, but somehow he couldn't put any real heat into it. Ginny had looked so bloody happy kissing Hermione, happier than he'd seen her in all the years since the business with the diary, back when they were kids and he sometimes forgot that Hermione was a girl because she was as good company as any boy, even Harry. Mum might take a while to warm up to it, but I reckon she couldn't be angry at Harry or Hermione for long. Especially if she sees how Gin's face lights up when they're both in the room. Or maybe she's already noticed? Merlin knows I should have done. He didn't know whether to cry, or laugh, or beat his head on the table, or all three at once.
“Hey, Ron.”
He looked up. “Vane.”
Romilda Vane chuckled. It wasn't the sort of laugh he expected from girls, other than maybe Hermione. “Goodness, how friendly. I'd thought we were in the same House, but maybe I actually got sorted into Slytherin and it's taken me five years to realise it.”
“Err... sorry. Romilda.”
She brushed a stray lock of curly black hair back behind her ear. “It's all right, really. I suppose we've never got to know each other, have we?”
Ron gritted his teeth, surprised at the surge of anger that ran through him. “If it wasn't for a couple of hours last year when I thought I was in love with the girl who'd given my best mate spiked chocolates, I'd scarcely know your name.”
Her gaze dropped to the floor. “Right. I am sorry about that. I was... I was a stupid little bint, wasn't I?”
He shook his head, feeling oddly ashamed. “I suppose I can't judge, can I? Two years trying to persuade myself that I was in love with one of my best friends, and she with me, completely ignoring the fact that she was in love with my other best friend, right up until my own sister kisses her and smacks both of us in the face with it. Err... that probably made no sense at all.”
“Actually, I saw what just happened. And I've a fair idea of the rest.”
For a moment, Ron didn't know if he should be angry that Romilda Vane was spying on him, or flattered that at least somebody might be paying attention to Ron Weasley as something other than a middling-good Keeper and middling-indifferent prefect. Don't be daft, he told himself, she was only watching you because of Harry. Unless she fancies Hermione or Ginny as well? “Oh.”
“Sorry.” Again, she wouldn't meet his eyes. “I know I shouldn't be prying, or spying, or, or anything, but I couldn't help noticing. And, well, I've been curious for a while now.”
“About Harry.”
“It started out that way, but... oh, I don't know, I suppose it's silly of me, but along the way I realised that those two were made for each other. Harry and Hermione, I mean.”
“Yeah. It took me long enough to cop on, but I suppose I'm not the sharpest tool in the shed. Filch probably noticed before I did.”
Romilda smiled, and looked up at him again. There was something he liked about that smile. “Don't be so hard on yourself, Ron. I think it's easier to see it from the outside. After all, they do seem to have gone all these years without noticing they'd become a couple.”
“I suppose you're right.”
“Of course I am!” She winked. “But your sister's the only girl in the whole castle who was smart enough to see that the only way to Harry's heart was through Hermione's. And I'm sure the same thing goes for other parts of him, and her, as well.”
“Eurgh... That's my sister you're talking about!”
Romilda smirked, and in spite of himself Ron couldn't help smiling. It was an awfully cute smirk, without a hint of actual cruelty. “In any case, Ron, once I'd worked that out, well, I started paying more attention to their friends.”
“Oh.” And now she'll ask me to introduce her to Neville, or maybe to Luna.
“And I realised I might have something in common with one of them. And probably would even if my whole family weren't die-hard Chudley supporters.”
Ron blinked. “You've got to be joking.”
“Of course not, Ron. I'd never joke about something as important as the team my dad and my mum and their mums and dads and so on have followed going back five hundred years.”
“Oh. Well, it's always good to meet another Cannons fan.”
“It is. And... I read Muggle Life Weekly as well. Kiss a Ginger Day does sound like an interesting festival. I'm not comfortable kissing somebody I don't know, but... maybe we could get to know each other?”
He met her eyes. They were deep and dark, gentle and cheerful. A bloke could get lost in them. And maybe it wouldn't be a bad kind of lost, either. “Err, yeah. I'd like that.”
“So would I.”
For once in his life, Ron knew exactly what he should say. “Would you care to join me for a stroll in the courtyard before dinner, Romilda?”
“I'd be delighted, Ron.”
Some hours later, he was talking with Romilda in the Great Hall, lingering over pudding, when the clock chimed. Dinner was nearly over, and Harry, Hermione, and Ginny were nowhere to be seen. He realised that he'd scarcely thought of his sister and his two best friends since he really got involved in conversing with the clever dark-haired Fifth Year. Well, I reckon they can get a meal in the kitchens, or maybe Dobby and Winky will insist on serving them personally. I'll never tell Mum or the Twins, of course, and I'll be very careful not to even speculate as to where my sister—or my other sister, or my black-haired brother—end up sleeping, but I'm glad they're having a good time. God and Merlin know the three of them deserve it. He chuckled.
“A Knut for your thoughts, Ron?”
“I was just thinking it would be pretty silly for me to act like a protective big brother when my little sister's dating the closest thing to a twin brother, and a twin sister, that I've got. And wait, that's a disturbing image, isn't it?”
Romilda snorted laughter. “You know, Ron, you probably shouldn't compare their relationship to incest when the three of them are right behind you.”
He whipped his head about. There was nobody there. When he turned back to Romilda, her eyes were sparkling and a bite of his treacle tart was missing. “Oh, you.... you sneak. You'd make a very good Weasley, so you would.”
“Well, I could take that in entirely the wrong fashion... but I won't. And it's still early days to take it in another way, so I'll simply say thank you, Ron.” She pushed her plate towards him. “Here. Just to make sure the honour of Clan Weasley is satisfied.”
“Oh. You don't have to... but thank you, Romilda.” He took a bite.
After dinner, they strolled towards Gryffindor Tower. Halfway there, Romilda pulled him into an empty corridor. “You know, Ron, I've always said to myself that I wasn't going to take anybody into a broom cupboard before we'd really got to know each other.”
He swallowed. “I think that's wise.” It is. And I'm not going to think about how much I'd like for us not to be wise. She's younger than Ginny, Ron. Don't forget that.
“But we don't need a broom cupboard to celebrate Kiss a Ginger Day, do we?” She looked up at him, and he leant down. He didn't have to lean down very far. He'd never thought about it before, but it turned out to be especially nice kissing somebody who wasn't too much shorter. Their lips met. It was lovely. He didn't really want to think about kissing Lavender, even for purposes of comparison, but kissing Romilda felt right. Not to mention that it blew all his old fantasies of kissing Hermione out of the water. She reached up and tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer. When they were done kissing, they spent a long moment looking in each others' eyes. That sort of thing had always sounded soppy and rather daft, but now it suddenly made all the sense in the world.
“That was... thank you.” He felt terribly stupid even as he said it.
“Thank you, Ron. And... maybe sometime in the future you'll help me to celebrate Shift a Ginger in a Cupboard Day?”
“I... that sounds good, someday. But, well... I don't want to pressure you.” Oh, Merlin's smelly socks, was that the wrong thing to say? Damn it, Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches says you've always got to be confident.
Romilda hugged him a little closer. “Thank you, Ron. And I'm dead serious when I say that. But, just so you know, I'm sixteen. If I'd been born a fortnight earlier, I'd be a Sixth Year.”
“That's good. I mean, not that I don't still think we should wait, but...”
“I know, Ron.” Romilda reached up to pull him closer, and they kissed again.
#
Hermione was usually a prompt riser, at least on school days, but right now she rather desperately wanted to stay in bed. She was in the very place where she'd wished she could wake up ever since first morning of November in her First Year—snuggled in Harry Potter's embrace, with nothing but his briefs and her knickers between them. And what was more, Ginny Weasley was cuddled against her back, with no more cloth to separate them than separated Harry and Hermione. She held herself still. It can't be too late in the morning, or Winky would have come to wake us. If my loves can sleep, I want them to.
My loves, and my lovers. It's real! I'm theirs, and they're mine. It's so much more than just a dream. For a moment she felt as if she might burst from the happiness that welled up in her breast. Last night the three of them had decided it would be better to work up to the point of giving each other their virginity—whence the underpants they'd put back on before they fell asleep—but they'd tried any number of pleasurable activities short of that, and everything, even the giggly awkward parts, had been delightful, far surpassing her fantasies.
She felt Harry stir. “Good morning, love,” she whispered.
He nuzzled her. “Mm, good morning, sweet. Let's let our Ginny sleep.”
Ginny planted a little kiss on the back of Hermione's neck. “I'm awake, dear hearts. Good morning.”
“Good morning, Ginny. Mm, how'd you like to roll on your back, Harry? So we can have a proper kiss?”
He kissed her forehead. “Sounds good, my sweetest hearts.” Hermione crawled across his body, with no more than a token pause to enjoy the feeling of her nipples against the skin of his chest, and Ginny moved into place. Their three sets of lips came together.
An uncertain amount of time later, Winky knocked gently on the bedpost. “Master Harry, Mistress Mione, Mistress Ginny? It is being morning, and breakfast is being served in the Great Hall in an hour's time. Are youses not wanting to get up?”
“Perhaps we could say we're ill and having a lie in?” Hermione whispered.
Ginny giggled and put her hand on Hermione's forehead. “Well, you don't feel fevered. But when I hear Hermione proposing we skive off an entire day of lessons, I have to suspect she's ill. And if she is, well, then, surely Harry and I have to spend the day taking care of our darling girl?”
Harry squeezed both girls a little closer. “I'm tempted, my loves. Very tempted. Winky could take a note to McGonagall, couldn't she?”
Hermione sighed. “Alas, the Head Boy and the Head Girl would be setting a poor example by spending an entire Tuesday in bed, even if they had the lovely excuse of wanting a very long cuddle with their amazing ginger girlfriend.”
“I suppose you're right, love,” Harry said. “We'll have that cuddle tonight, won't we?”
“We will,” Ginny said. “And I suppose we can at least have a nice bath before breakfast.”
“That sounds brilliant,” Hermione said, trailing her hand down the other girl's spine. “Last one naked has to scrub the others' backs.” She pulled off Ginny's knickers.
Seeker-fast, Harry stripped Hermione. “Looks like I've won,” he said.
Ginny purred and arched her back. “Getting washed by the most handsome boy on the planet? I'd say it's Hermione and me who're the winners.”
Hermione kissed her. “Come, love, let's have our bath.”
“But first... it seems we're the only nudists in the room at the moment. Let's spread the love, love.” Laughing, they pulled off Harry's briefs, drew back the curtains, and headed across the room to the bathtub, which was now marble and more than big enough for them to share. The Head Boy and Head Girl's rooms were pretty nice as they were, but I love how Winky and Dobby have put them together. I just hope we don't find McGonagall waiting outside our door when we leave for breakfast, wanting to know what we've been up to and why our House Elves have been messing with the architecture of Gryffindor Tower.
As things fell out, they met Professor McGonagall in the corridor as they made their way to the Great Hall, but if the Headmistress had any suspicion of what the Head Boy and the Head Girl and their best mate's sister had been up to she kept it well hidden, limiting herself to a simple “Good morning, Mister Potter, Miss Granger, and Miss Weasley. You're looking well today.”
“Thank you, Professor. You also.” Hermione blushed when she realised what she'd said, but McGonagall, much to her surprise, went pink as well.
“Thank you, Miss Granger.” McGonagall glanced away, back towards the Library.
As if on cue, the Library doors creaked open. Hermione looked over and saw Madam Pince closing them. She ostentatiously rattled the keys as she locked up. “Good morning, everyone! I was just doing a bit of early morning cataloguing, of course. Good to see you again, Minerva.”
“Yes,” McGonagall said, but she couldn't quite suppress the brightness of her smile. “Good morning, Irma.”
“Good morning!” Ginny said brightly. “Come along, Harry and Hermione. The Head Boy and the Head Girl should be in the Great Hall, don't you agree? Setting a good example to the Firsties, and all of that. We'll see you in a little while, Professors.”
Once they'd turned a few corners, Ginny started giggling. “Well, I'm glad we're not the only people who don't want to talk about where they slept last night, but I do hope the two of them will someday feel comfortable enough that Madam Pince doesn't feel the need to slip up to the library door under Disillusionment and pretend she's just closing up for breakfast.”
“I agree,” Hermione said. “They make a nice couple, don't they?”
“They do,” Harry said. “Speaking of which, how do the two of you want to play this? I mean, how open will we be about, well, us?”
Ginny reached up and poked him in the nose. “Embarrassed, Harry?”
“Not in the slightest. But I don't want either of you to be uncomfortable.”
Hermione squeezed his hand. “We'll not be. Well, I'll not be, at least. Sorry, Ginny, I shouldn't presume...”
Ginny poked her in the nose. “You're not presuming at all, love. I'm fine with being open. I'm not saying we should shift each other on the Staff Table during a meal or tell the whole school that in the course of one evening we progressed from our first kisses to sharing a bed, but I don't see any point in hiding our relationship.”
They paused in an alcove, just long enough for a quick hug. And then they made their way into the Great Hall. They didn't hold hands, but Hermione still felt as if all eyes were upon them...
Except they weren't. It was a perfectly ordinary morning, and nobody seemed to think there was anything at all unusual about Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ginny Weasley walking close together. Well, of course they don't. It's not as if any of us had a big 'V for virgin' written on our forehead which is now half erased. Everybody knows we're friends.
They sat down at the Gryffindor table, Harry in the middle and the girls on either side. A few people greeted them: Colin Creevey, who fortunately seemed to have got over his hero-worship of Harry around the same time as he started going out with Sally-Anne Perks; Neville Longbottom and his Hufflepuff betrothed, Hannah Abbot; Parvati and Lavender, who'd become even closer in the aftermath of Lavender's breakup with Ron.
Thinking of Ron put a small dent in Hermione's good mood. I do hope he's all right. I can no more regret being in love with Harry and Ginny than I can regret being a Witch, or breathing, but I'd be sad if our relationship hurt him so badly that he can't even get out of bed. As if they could read her thoughts, Harry gave her a little squeeze about the shoulders, and Ginny reached out under the table and took her hand.
It was at just that moment that her red-headed surrogate brother—or should she say brother-in-law, now?—appeared. Much to Hermione's surprise, and relief, he looked absolutely delighted. For a moment she feared that Ron's—possibly fragile—grip on reality had slipped away from him. But then she saw that a girl was holding his hand. Is that... Romilda Vane? For an instant further she wondered if the Fifth Year might have made another attempt to snare Harry's affections, and if Ron hadn't learnt his lesson about eating suspect sweets. But then she saw the look on Romilda's face. It was much the same as Ron's. In fact, it was very like the expression Hermione had seen in the mirror this morning. Well, then, I suppose Harry and I aren't the only ones who celebrated Kiss a Ginger Day. Fair play to them both.